The Miners Rest
by pariah wilson
Summary: rated R for language, innuendo, and the Brothers Grimm. Disclaimer I don’t own them, I’m just wishing in one hand. The brothers investigate weird happenings in a western ghost town. In which Dean reads naughty stories and embarrasses Sam. Please review!
1. Chapter 1

The Miners Rest

Rating: T (R- for language, innuendo, and the Brothers Grimm)

Characters: Sam and Dean, OCs Possible Sam or Dean/OC later

Disclaimer I don't own them, I'm just wishing in one hand.

Summary The brothers investigate weird happenings in a western ghost town. Dean inadvertently reads naughty stories, Sam is embarrassed.

Notes This is Not beta'd, although it probably should be . (Concrit is very welcome!:) I messed up posting the first time around, so this is now fixed, I think I caught it before many people saw it. Much less unwieldy now!

The Drift Inn, Macungie, Pennsylvania

Sam was flipping through windows on his laptop when a wadded napkin bounced off his head. He looked up to see Dean giving him a thumbs up that turned into a moneymoney sign.

"Got one, " he mouthed, and went on scribbling on another napkin. Sam squinted at his notes.

Kdh? was crossed out, replaced by "not yet" and other useful details. Sam sprawled across the bed, carefully insinuated one long finger between his brother's cheek and the phone to flip the switch that turned it into a speakerphone. Dean yanked the thing away from his ear with a what the fuck grimace at Sam. Sam rolled his eyes and dragged the phone-still attached to Dean's arm- closer to the mike on his laptop. The dude on the other end kept talking in his plummy used-car salesman voice, oblivious to the silent wrestling match going on.

The job was a haunting in a renovated ghost town. Some resort company cleaning the place up for tourists had disturbed something vicious and inventive. Trucks lost their brakes on the hill and rolled right through the old buildings. Elevators broke down and then ventilation pumps, always while somebody was down in the old mine shafts. A tunnel had collapsed, where no tunnel should have been, according to the old mine records People were dying, and the corporation didn't want to talk about it, but somebody there who knew somebody who knew somebody had managed to get Dean's cell number. Maybe from Ellen. Or John's voicemail. Who knew?

The TT Resort company already had full bookings for their Wild West town. They were willing to provide room and meals, pay expenses and a retainer that even Sam thought sounded reasonable, to the "experts" who could solve their embarrassing problem before the holiday weekend turned into a front-page murder mystery. Dean and Sam tag-teamed their source, asking questions on the speaker phone, Dean flipping through Dad's journal and scribbling notes while Sam surfed the information highway. Their contact guy told him what he knew, which wasn't much.

Sam mouthed "Tommyknockers?" but Dean shook his head. Nobody'd heard the tapping, and some of the "accidents" happened entirely aboveground. Sounded more like a straight up angry spirit. The guy promised them a hefty advance if they could get there the next day, and a bonus for getting the problem taken care of before the weekend. Sam shook his head furiously, even stood up to loom over him threateningly, pointing to his dirty laundry, their half- finished pizza and the clock, flipped the screen around to point to Mapquest's estimate of the driving time, and made go-to-sleep signs with his cheek on folded hands that made him look about five years old. It was cute as hell.

So Dean told the guy no sweat, they could be there late the next day, as Sam flopped back on the motel bed and groaned. Half an hour later they were packed and on the road, with the pizza in its box between them. Sam bitched till after midnight, mostly about the fact he had no jeans that weren't stiff with mud or dried blood. Dean pointed out he had thirty bucks in cash and a sprained wrist. Since Sam didn't have any better solution to the cash-flow problem, he switched to bitching about how his long ass legs didn't fit in the front seat or the back seat. Dean had to turn the music up twice before Sam finally shut up and went to sleep with his knees crammed up against the dashboard .

They rolled through five states on I-70, barreling toward Colorado, stopped once in the early morning for coffee and donuts. With just enough soft light to see the trees across the road , they stood for a minute under the gas stations's harsh fluorescents, sipped their coffee listening to the bug zapper whine and crackle, watching the night pull back as columns of mist rose to meet the sun . They stopped again when the sun was beating down hot and harsh, long enough to walk around the Car and stretch the kinks out, water the borrow pit with the used coffee. Sam had a theory the practice was environmentally sound, and Dean disagreed, mostly because he discovered that while he was explaining roadside biology to prove his point Sam forgot to complain about everything else.

Dean let Sam drive the next stretch, miles of endless flat wheatfields as far as he could see, while he put on his sunglasses and napped in Sam's seat. He made Sam swear to wake him up as soon as the Rockies blocked the horizon all the way from north to south. He took the wheel again then, with a giant cup of coffee on the dash, and sent Sam back into the Kwikmart to pay for the corn dogs and gas. Midafternoon they swept around the cloverleaf at the edge of an industrial park, and then the Impala was rolling down I-25, 75 mph bumper to bumper all the way through Denver and almost to Colorado Springs.

Dean's elbow hung comfortably half out the window, restless fingers tapping out the rhythm on the door while the noise of the wind almost drowned out "Stairway to Heaven." Sam huddled in the passenger seat, shivering a little and wincing every time Dean tried and failed to hit the high notes. Dad's journal lay between them, multi-colored sticky notes fluttering along the top.

Sam had his laptop open on his knees, eyes narrowed against the gale blasting through the car as he flicked through screen after screen. The first colors of sunset lit the window behind him, wisps of fire high over the dark bulk of the mountains. Dean reached over and thumped Sam on the shoulder.

"You know what I really like about having you along, Sammy?" he shouted.

Sam looked up to see his brother grinning at him.

"What?' he yelled, grinning back in spite of the cold wind snapping his hair into his eyes. It felt good to hear it, made him glad his brother was so happy to be hunting with him again.

"I get to use the car pool lanes."

When the last slanting sunlight set the aspens on the lower slopes blazing gold over white, turned every window opaque with glare and backlit every golden blade of tall grass, they turned west again, rolling up under the sunset straight into night. Twilight fell on the plains below them, blue and shimmering under purple dusk clouds, painted with flaming streamers of lemon and rose, but with every curve the colors faded around them, the shadows grew longer and deeper. The Impala's purr shifted lower, became a growl as she climbed. Her headlights swept over rock walls and trees that fell away into dark, impossible depths beneath them.

Sam leaned over to switch on the heater, and sighed, stretching out his long legs as another mile marker rolled past in the dark. His sharp face turned toward Dean, unmistakable smirk lit by the computer screen.

"Told ya you should have said we'd meet him tomorrow. We're never gonna make it now."

Dean scoffed. "We'll make it. We're almost there. Night falls faster in the mountains, college boy. Where are we meeting this guy again?"

"The Windsor Hotel, manager's office. In Placerville." Smug tap-tap-tap of keys. "That's approximately 78 miles from here, and you're doing what- 40 now?"

"55" Dean said shortly. The Impala growled a little louder.

"S'poseta keep it under 30 on the switchbacks, Dean." Dean growled, just a little louder than the Impala. Sam smiled into the night. "We're not gonna make it."

"Dude, the hotel manager is gonna be there. For one thing, he runs a hotel, not a bank, so this is his busy time, and he also knows we're coming. He's the one in the big hurry, remember?"

Sam's teeth flash in the light from the dash. He slouched a little deeper into his seat, tilted his head back like he was planning on a nap.

"We're like, still two hours away, Dean. He's the manager, he'll be long gone before we get there, and we're not gonna get our advance that we just drove all night and all day for".

Yes, we will," Dean muttered through gritted teeth. "We are not 2 hours away."

Sam grinned. "Wanna bet? Tell ya what. If he's there when we get there, I'll buy pizza. He's not there, I'll kick back and do research while you do the laundry."

"You're on,." The Impala surged forward, a hint of whine below the deep growl of the engine.

Sam patted the dash. "Don't hurt yourself, girl. Altitude's tough on your engine. Won't hurt Dean to do my laundry, and better him than you if it did."

"Not fair, Sam. "

A little more than 2 hours later, the Impala was still crawling over the last few miles. Dean gripped the steering wheel and cursed every rut and pothole big enough to swallow a tire, in between swearing at the cell phone for getting no signal and the map for daring to call this an "improved" road.. Sam sprawled loose in his seat to absorb the vibration, bouncing and chuckling at his brother's helpless ire. Dean had been swearing steadily for a while.

Just as lights appeared ahead, the wind slapped the car hard, scouring dust and gravel over the paint. Sam jerked away from the rattle of rock hitting his window, his startled "shit!" joining Dean's relentless litany. The EMF chimed in with a short squeal from the back seat, and they both looked back at it. It sat black and quiet on Dean's duffel bag.

A dog howled outside, and then another picked it up out in the dark. The boys looked out, then at each other and shrugged. The Impala rolled a little slower between the dark bulks of frame buildings onto a main street lit with gas lamps. One eye still on the EMF, Sam tapped Dean's arm and pointed, "That's it Dean, we're here."

They pulled up in front of the Windsor Hotel, Dean craning his neck at 4 stories of multicolored brick generously frosted with ornamental stonework. "Fuck me," he breathed. "What the hell is that?"

Sam glanced up. "Victorian neo-Gothic, I think." He slid out the door, unfolding his long body with a sigh, zipped up his jacket and pulled his duffel out of the back seat. "Looks like they're still open, at least" he smirked. "I'll go check in, meet you in the lobby?"

"Wait, we're staying here?"

Sam grinned at him, "The Windsor Hotel, 3 stars, historic monument, recently restored to its original glory, now open to special guests. And us. Yep. Parking's around the back. You gonna gawk or park the car?"

"You gotta be shitting me." but Dean shifted back into drive and pulled around to the parking lot.

Sam laughed at him, but he felt a little out of place himself walking across a carpet so plush that his boots sank soundlessly into it. Rows of brass keys hung over ranks of wooden pigeonholes on the wall behind the front desk. The night clerk leaned on the counter, flipping through an actual ledger by the light of a green shaded lamp. He was dressed to complement the decor, dirty blond hair slicked back, collarless striped shirt and garters on his arms. Sam had worn weirder outfits himself waiting tables in California, but still, it was a struggle not to smirk and the kid knew it.

He frowned a little when Sam slung his duffel to the floor and reached for the ledger. At Sam's raised eyebrow he flushed and flipped the book around, open to a clean page. As Sam flipped back a few pages in the ledger just to see what was written there the clerked flushed. He put down a fountain pen to write with, but kept his hand on it .

"We're open to pre-preregistered guests only."

Sam nodded. "Yeh, Thanks. Winchester, two." There must have been a laptop under the scarred wooden counter. The clerk's face was briefly underlit by the screen as he checked.

Sam slid the pen out from under his hand. A waft of cold air hitting his back and the jingling of keys announced Dean's arrival. Another thump as Deans duffel hit the floor beside Sam's. "We were meeting Tony Nelson," Sam commented as he wrote."he still around?" The clerk frowned again at both of them, and seemed pleased to say the manager had, in fact, gone home for the night.

He heard Dean groan behind him. Sam grinned and said "Awesome."

The kid blinked in surprise, almost grinned back.

Dean probably had smirked at the clerk's getup, served him right. Sam tapped the pen on the counter.

"My brother and I had reservations tonight, anyway, I think? Winchester."he reminded gently.

The kid straightened up. "Oh, yeah." He pulled a key off the wall behind him.

"You're the experts in subsidence, right, gonna take care of all the problems with the old tunnels?" Dean coughed.

"Right, that's us" Sam said, and shook the hand the kid offered.

"I'm Derek, Nice to meet you." Sam and Dean both reached for the key.

"Uh. Do you guys need two keys?" They nodded.

Derek turned back to the wall, talking over his shoulder. "Mr. Nelson was..expecting you, actually. He left some stuff for you-"

He wrestled a thick manila envelope out of its pigeonhole and shoved it across the counter. Dean reached past Sam to pick it up, pried it open. A thick sheaf of brochures and clippings fell out, and another, smaller envelope, with a note on Windsor hotel stationery clipped to the front. Sam leaned over his shoulder to snag the note while Dean shuffled through the rest.

"Cool. So, is there anyplace to eat around here?" Sam asked casually. Derek thought for a minute.

"The dining room and the Eating House is closed already- too bad, they have great pie, but the saloon is probably still serving." he leaned forward to look at the grandfather clock in the lobby."For maybe, 20 minutes."

Dean grunted something unintelligible, stuffing wads of paper back in the envelope.

The clerk added, "And Mr. Nelson asked me to be sure and tell you where the staff meeting is tomorrow."

Dean looked up at that, rocked back on his heels. "Staff meeting?" he said it in the tone most people reserved for "Snakes?" and the kid's grin got a little wider.

"7:15. the restaurant doesn't open till 8, so it's quiet then. "He nodded toward a darkened area just off the lobby."Mr. Nelson wants to go over a few things with you first, so he'll be there at 7, then he'll introduce you to the rest of the staff."

Sam nodded. "We'll be there." Dean groaned again.

"At..Seven in the morning? Dude, there better be coffee"

Sam grinned. "Hey, that reminds me, Derek- you got a laundromat around here?"

"Not in town." Sam saw Dean start to smile out of the corner of his eye. "But, Mr. Nelson said you guys are gonna be working here, so you can use the washing machine downstairs anytime. Just pick up the key at the desk."

"Yeah? great- Dean'll wanna do that later.." Dean muttered darkly behind him.

"Thanks, Derek, you've been a lot of help." Sam swept up the two keys off the counter, dropped one in Dean's hand. "That's yours."

He hefted his duffel of dirty clothes and dropped it on Dean's shoulder. "I believe that one's yours, too, brother mine."

Dean glared, slapping a fan of colored paper slips against his chest.

" Not so fast, little brother. I believe we agreed.." he shoved one longer pastel strip out of the sheaf with his thumb, grinning. Sam took it and whistled.

"Dude, you're kidding."

"It's still today, we're here, and I'm not doing any laundry tonight. "

Gracefully he dipped one shoulder to let Sam's bag slide to the floor.

"But I won't make you buy pizza."

Smirking, he slid another, neon-pink slip from the sheaf and waved it as he walked away. Heading for the elevator, he tossed back over his shoulder,"'Cause this- is our voucher for dinner at the Miner's Rest."

Sam bent and slung his bag over his shoulder, followed his brother.

"Whatever, dude. The way I remember it, the terms were.."

The elevator slid shut on the rest.

The saloon was crowded, some locals, some tourists, some staff identified by the Olde West costumes they wore. The beer was not bad, and covered by the voucher as well, so that made it taste even better.

Dean flirted with the saloon girls, played a little pool, not hustling, he didn't win much more than fifty bucks and bought the losers a drink after.

Sam sat at the bar chatting to the girls and the bartender. who wore the same get-up as Derek back at the hotel, minus the visor, seemed just as friendly and enthusiastic as the kid. Tim had all the gossip or knew who did. One of the saloon girls was a local, knew something about the history of the town, her brother had worked with the construction crew, so she called him over too.

Accidents might be happening more frequently now, but the staff talked like things started long before the resort manager caught on. Construction and renovation crews had had unusually bad luck too. Pets had gone missing, although most of the locals attributed that to careless owners unused to the local wildlife running heavy to predators.

When Dean put up his pool cue and raised an eyebrow at Sam, Sam drained his beer and nodded goodnight to the bartender and the tall girl in green satin collecting a tray of drinks.

Thanks, guys, Fiona. See ya round?"

Tim dropped his empty bottle in the bin and swiped his rag over the bar. Smiled when the saloon girl promised, "We'll be here." Sam couldn't help grinning back.

Dean collared him near the door.

"Sammy, Sammy, Sammy." he chortled."Didja get her number?"

"She had information, Dean."

"Oh, is that what you college kids are calling it these days?" Sam rolled his eyes as the batwing doors swung shut behind them.

"Seems nobody's lived here for a while, but the accidents started as soon as construction did."

"Knew that already." Sam shrugged.

"So what did you get? Besides a little extra cash."

"Dude, they got off cheap. Players like that should totally pay me for teaching them the finer points of the game." The gaslights had gone off already, and their footsteps echoed in the dark, quiet street.

"You got nothin either, huh?"

The key to their room jingled as Dean tossed it from hand to hand.

"Lotsa mines, lotsa tunnels. The gas truck wasn't the first unexpected collapse, just the worst. There are maps, but nobody knows where all the tunnels are anyway. And the museum's not open yet. Bookstore might have some, though."

Sam sighed. "Hope the manager has more than he told us on the phone."

"Yeah."


	2. Chapter 2

The Miners Rest

Rating: T (R- for language, innuendo, and the Brothers Grimm)

Characters: Sam and Dean, OCs Possible Sam or Dean/OC later

Disclaimer I don't own them, I'm just wishing in one hand.

Summary The brothers find a job investigating weird happenings in a western ghost town.

Notes This is Not beta'd, although it probably should be . (Concrit is very welcome!:) I messed up posting the first time around, so this is now fixed, I think I caught it before many people saw it. Much less unwieldy now too!

Please review and let me know if I should even go on with this...

The Windsor Hotel, Placerville, Colorado

Morning came too early. Bright sunshine shone through red velvet curtains, and the water pipes banged down the hall. Dean groaned and rolled over, watching Sam dig through his duffel hopelessly before he slid back into the same jeans he'd been wearing for two days. He glared at Dean. Dean sat on the satiny bed cover, ignoring his brother except for giving his clean jeans an extra snap before he put them on.

"Man, whatever else you wanna say about that creepy little bear, he's right about how good jeans smell when they're fresh out of the dryer."  
He cocked an eyebrow. "Right, Sammy?"

Sam growled and Dean nodded sympathetically.  
"Yeah, you should get some coffee before you have to talk to anybody. I could use some too. If you're done picking out your wardrobe, we might get down there before the manager leaves again."

When Sam's head whipped around, he managed to get out the door and slam it behind him. He was halfway down the stairs before the door opened, and in the lobby waiting ostentatiously by the elevator before Sam caught up, still glowering and promising retribution with a slant of his eyes.

A dark-haired man, fortyish and balding, sat under the only light in the deserted restaurant with a pot of coffee and a plate of cinnamon rolls already on the table. Dean grinned at the sight, and even Sam perked up a little.

"Mr. Nelson?" he asked, hand out with his aw-shucks smile on. "I'm Dean Winchester, this is my brother Sam. Sorry we missed you last night. Hadn't really allowed for the road in."

"Call me Tony." The man smiled sheepishly and stood to shake both their hands. He conformed to the local dress code, wearing suspenders as well as sleeve garters, but his hand was firm and callused, more like a construction worker's than an office manager's.  
" I forgot to warn you about that, sorry. Guess I'm used to- it's a lot better than it was."

Dean grimaced. "Hard to imagine."

Tony laughed. "Road crews graded it and graveled it last spring. Before that we had to wait for a hard freeze to get the heavy equipment up here."

Clearly thinking about his baby on that road Dean looked like he couldn't decide what to say to that.. Remembering the check in their envelope the night before, Sam cut in,

"So you were around back when the incidents started. Tony?"

"Huh? No, the first was this summer.." he raised his eyebrows when Sam shook his head.

"Talked to a couple of construction workers last night that said different- "  
"Already? That's good," Tony looked surprised and a little impressed, like he meant it."Have you figured out what's causing it then?"he said hopefully. Dean fought not to roll his eyes.

"Well..At this point we've eliminated some of the possibilities, but we're going to need to check out the area where the incidents occurred too."

The manager's face fell a little, but he nodded. "Of course. But just- don't believe everything you hear from the locals. Some of them are-throwbacks. They really- like the isolation, y'know? Not everybody was crazy about a tourist resort coming in, modernizing, bringing jobs and all.. Besides, those guys were a buncha clowns, always losing tools and finding them in their own back pockets, stuff like that. .This place has been a ghost town since WWI, and there were stories before we ever started rebuilding, and ghosts probably seemed like a good excuse every time they went over budget."

Sam nodded thoughtfully."Maybe, but in cases like this, there's usually a pattern. The mischief builds up, kind of a warning, before it gets serious." Sam reached for another cinnamon roll as Dean chimed in,  
"We got a couple hits on the EMF out on the edge of town, couldn't see much in the dark, any idea what might be out that way?"

"On the north road?" Tony frowned. "Least Chance is about a mile out-"

"Least chance?"  
Sam flipped his laptop open, started tapping thoughtfully on the keyboard with the hand that didn't hold a cinnamon roll. "Looks like the whole town burned in the 90's, never was rebuilt."

Tony nodded. "Pretty much everything that had been there moved here."

"Why- "

Sam hunched one shoulder, eyes on the screen. "Doesn't say, Dean."

Dean smacked him lightly on the back of the head.. " I was going to say, why wasn't it rebuilt?"

Tony shrugged. "It probably wasn't worth rebuilding. Prospecting was slowing down by then, no more wildcat strikes. Mines closed down all over the mountain, consolidated, the offices were here anyway. There's a couple graveyards down the hill out there, not much else now."

Dean took a long pull on his coffee, shot a glance at Sam.  
"Huh. The hits we got were a little closer in. You know where all this stuff used to be in the area-we wondered if you got coordinates, or any plans or maps of where the tunnels might be, where they went, what connected to what, all that?"

"Umm, The architect probably did. That's all stored at their main office, though, not here."

Sam hmmd thoughtfully, staring at the fancy logo on the screen . "Was that Lawson or Chandler?"  
Tony's brows went up, and his lips twitched, a smile fighting to break loose. Dean rolled his eyes.

"Dude."

Sam looked up through a tangle of soft brown bangs to find brown and green eyes watching him lick caramelized sugar off his fingers. He swallowed a bit of roll.  
"What?" he said defensively. "I was just gonna see what they had on file.."

"Not at the table, please, you geek. Got real-time chat happening here. Pay attention."

Sam folded his hands with a long-suffering sigh. Tony took another sip of coffee to hide his grin.

"So, I thought you guys might want to look around the mine that collapsed under  
Lincoln Street. It's closed to the public now, of course, but I've got a guide coming in who can show you around the hill a little too. I'll introduce you at the meeting so you guys can head out after breakfast."

"That'll help, thanks..Something else, is there any way we could get into the museum to look at the old town records and stuff?".

Tony coughed. " There's really nothing there yet, just boxes of stuff. Like I said, most of the records went out to the designers and architects for the renovation. I guess I should've had those files for you already, but... I didn't expect..I mean, ghostbusters, y'know. Stakes and crosses and crystal balls, yes, GPS and wi-fi, no," he said apologetically.

Sam's grin was so blinding Tony couldn't help returning it. "You want old school, talk to my brother._ Some _of us have actually acknowledged the 21st century."

Tony nodded solemnly. "I know what you mean."

Dean muttered something under his breath, and leaned back in his chair grumbling, "You want a little old-fashioned wisdom, little brother? How about "paper covers rock, rock still crushes laptop?" Even in the 21st century. " He smirked when Sam pointedly moved the computer a little further away from him.

Tony laughed outright. "Looks like you boys have the bases covered. I'll see what I can get downloaded from the head office for you. Meanwhile, you might want to talk to Jean Dahlquist-she runs the bookstore and souvenir shop down the street, claims it's the best collection of Gold Rush memorabilia in the region. She's not actually staff, more like a franchise, so she won't be here this morning, but I'll let her know you're coming."

He pushed away from the table. "The kitchen's probably online, just let them know what you want. I need to get folks herded in here so we can start."

The brothers exchanged a look.  
'Seems like a pretty good guy" Sam said cautiously.  
"Except for the clothes," Dean agreed, "and they're all dressed like that. Jesus, will you look at these freaks?"

The restaurant was starting to fill up. Tony introduced the "subsidence experts" to the rest of the staff as they came in.  
Most were college kids on a working break at the resort and playing dress-up , looking like refugees from a Hollywood cast party- girls in satin and gingham, gamblers in string ties and cowboys with tooled leather gunbelts slung low on their hips, miners in flannel and scruffy beards who looked a little like John.  
Sam felt his throat tighten, and carefully didn't look at Dean, who was watching the girls, of course.  
"Nice feathers on the redhead there" he muttered, kicked a chair out from their table for her, leering suggestively. Derek, the clerk from the night before, dropped into it. He was one of the miners this morning, wearing flannel and a battered hat

"Hi, guess you guys found Tony all right? " he said cheerfully, helping himself to their coffeepot.  
"If you want a real breakfast, you should get your orders in right now. The kitchen's gonna be real busy now till about 10 o'clock,"

Ignoring Deans glare, he shoved a couple menus across the table and leaned back .

"I hoped I'd get a chance to talk to you guys later. I'm at the Colorado School of Mines, so I'm working on a paper on the geology around here. Tony asked me to take you up on the hill this morning to meet Pat. She's training me to be a guide down in the mines. She's not gonna make it to the meeting, I guess one of the elevators broke down again last night."  
He called one of the girls in gingham over. "Tell Mike to get me a special, over-easy, wouldja, Sue? Dean and Sam here are the seismologists the head office sent in- I don't know what they want."  
The girl wiggled her fingers in a little wave, wrote down all three orders, and joined them again a minute later with a coffee cup of her own, just as Tony started lining his people out for the day's activities.

Tony seemed to expect a lot of activity. Placerville had a dozen employees whose job was providing atmosphere on a schedule- gunfights on Main Street, gambling and fistfights in the saloons, a real dance hall where the girls danced with anybody for a dollar.  
Dean perked up at that and said, "Is that like dirty dancing?"

Sue sighed. "Worse. Waltzing. I used to do that when I first got here. Damn kids kept stepping on my toes. I like working in the general store better. "

Their guide was a middle aged woman who looked more like a hunter than a tour guide. She ran them ragged over the hillsides all around Placerville. Both Winchesters were gasping in the thin air, but Pat didn't seem to need to breathe often.

Dean surreptiously waved the EMF at her, and Sam muttered "Christo" as she led them straight up the steepest hill talking all the time about the tunnels, mines they passed and listing minerals in the area without stopping once. Derek bounded along after them like an eager puppy, showing Sam the traces of ore in the spoil piles that littered the mountain, though sometimes he had trouble keeping up with Sam's long legs. Dean ran the GPS, dutifully recording all the locations Pat pointed out, occasionally switching it for the EMF in his pocket. Despite his prodding when they crossed the line of a collapsed tunnel, it stayed stubbornly quiet.

"Is this one of the tunnels that collapsed recently? " Sam asked, surveying the long ditch that meandered across the slope before ending abruptly.

Derek answered for her, "Actually it's an adit, because it goes sideways. Tunnels go straight down." Pat and Sam shot him an identical look of exasperation.

Dean muttered, "Adit to the zeroes out here." But only Sam heard him and his lips didn't even twitch.

He was listening to Pat explain that this particular adit had partially collapsed back in the 80's -1880's, she corrected herself when Sam lifted an enquiring brow. Derek was already distracted again, picking up rocks and turning them over with a blissful expression on his face.

Dean cut into Pat's story. "Tony- Mr. Nelson- mentioned another ghost town next to Placerville, that burned down about that time?"

Pat shrugged, eyes on the leaning mill midway up the slope. "Least Chance. It's just over that hill." She waved casually at the mountain towering behind them, smirked at Dean's incredulous look.  
"Derek can take you around by the road if you want, but I really should be getting back to the elevator, see how long before it's running again. I'll give you boys a call when we can get you down there, ok?"  
Without waiting for agreement, she set off across the hillside toward the trees hiding what she claimed used to be a whole city of tents. Sam watched her go, hands deep in his jacket pockets.

"So I'm guessing we still got nothing?' he said softly.

" Not even a flicker. Maybe this thing only comes out at night."  
"According to the files, the bus fell through the street about noon."

Dean shrugged irritably. " Bus is heavier than most vehicles, maybe it was undermined at night, and took the extra weight to crash." He followed the direction of Sam's gaze and sighed. "Or maybe Pat really doesn't know what we're looking for."

Sam's lips curved up. "Seismologists."

"Yeah, well, you talk to the puppy. You college boys should get along fine. You both got rocks in your heads." Derek was close enough to hear the last part, and laughed at Sam's face.  
"Come on, man, like you never heard that before?"

Dean snorted. " Sammy thinks all my jokes are original -he never gets them the second time either." Sam did smile then, wistfully. It had been true once.

So, " Derek said, "You guys want to look at Least Chance and the cemetery?"

Derek enjoyed telling them about the fire in Least Chance- local legend said it started in an outhouse and spread to the rest of the town.

"No shit?" Dean grinned, and Sam groaned before Derek could do more than open his mouth.  
"Dude, just don't say it, ok?"

Not much was left of the town. The railroad had once run straight through it on its way to Placerville but the steel rails were gone, even most of the ties, nothing left but a few rusty spikes on the embankment where they'd been. Except that the rocks tended to form rectangles instead of piles, Least Chance looked like the hillside they'd just left.  
The wind was stronger on this side though, shoving at them as they picked their way around the pits that Derek said weren't mines, but old cellars. The EMF flickered steadily, like it was detecting some kind of residue. Watching it, Sam tripped over a heap of bricks half-hidden in the sod. His long arms windmilled frantically as he nearly pitched into the pit beside it. Derek reached down to help Sam up while Dean did a slow circle with the EMF.

"Man, are you ok?" he helped Sam dust himself off as Sam glared at the bricks that had tripped him. "You gotta be careful. I know it doesn't look like much, but there's a lot of shit under the grass out here." Dean's laughter covered the blip.

"See, Sam, that's what happens when you eat healthy. You get so tall you can't see your feet anymore". Sam narrowed his eyes as Dean marked that point on the GPS too, and neither of the brothers said anything about the giggling they'd heard..

Least Chance and Placerville shared their cemetery, down the hill and across the railroad tracks. The monitor in Dean's hand continued to flicker sporadically enroute, with a sharp squeal that made them all jump when they crossed the old tracks. What is that thing anyway, Derek asked curiously.

Dean shrugged. "Kinda like a black box, only not. Measures residuals." Derek looked confused. Behind him, Sam rolled his eyes, and Dean waggled his eyebrows where the kid couldn't see. They picked their way through leaning markers of wood and stone. Sam paused at Beloved Father and Friend, dated 1951. Fresh flowers lay on the grave.

Derek saw, and said, "Hey, you want somebody who can tell you about the old days you should meet old lady Creek, her husband's buried here too, like the last resident ever. She's the one puts flowers on the grave out here. She knew like, half the people buried here, lived here forever. "

Sam looked at Dean and nodded."Yeah, we probably should talk to her. She might remember more about the stuff that's happened than got written down." Dean snorted. "Old ladies always do."

Derek grinned. "She lives pretty close. We can stop on the way back. She'll talk your ear off though." He shook his head. "She's kinda losing it too- came into town last month needing a ride down the mountain to talk to the sheriff. She claims a dust devil ate her dog." He snorted.  
Sam and Dean exchanged another glance.

"Sure, we'd love to meet her." They headed back to the Jeep, Sam ignoring Deans stage-whispered "Sammy's got a date" that made Derek giggle.  
They stopped beside a cabin half hidden from the road by pine trees, with roses growing all around it. A tall, lean white-haired lady knelt in the garden, digging energetically with a bucketful of something that looked like onions beside her. Derek jumped out and waved.

" Hey, Mrs. Creek, How are you?" She stood and peered at them. "I'm Derek Kittrick, from the Windsor. Remember me? " he didn't wait for her nod.

" These guys are working for TT, checking out all the problems we've been having with subsidence and the Fortnam Mine, and they'd like to talk to you." His hand rested casually on the pole gate. " Do you have a few minutes?"

She looked past him at the brothers. Sam took his hand out of his pocket and gave her a little wave. " I'm Sam Winchester, Ma'am, and this is my brother Dean. Derek says you're the best person to talk to about the history of the mines and the towns around here."

"Winchester. Like the rifle?"  
"Uh, yeah."

" That used to be a pretty popular name up here. Never met anyone called after one though." She laughed at her own joke, the Winchesters joining her after a moment of surprise.

"Come on inside, get chilled standing around here in the wind." Dean clapped Derek on the shoulder when he hesitated, looking at his watch.

"Thanks, man, you've gone above and beyond. In fact, why don't you just drop us off here and we'll walk back in, so you can get back to work." Derek looked a little doubtful, but nodded.

The old lady brushed the dirt off her jeans and reached for her bucket of bulbs, but Sam beat her to it. "Let me get that for you, Ma'am."  
She looked up at him, pushed at the multicolored knitted cap that was doing a bad job of keeping her hair from flying around in the wind.  
"You're a tall one, aren't you. Long as the rifle you're named for."

She pointed the trowel in her hand at Dean.

"Your brother looks more like a Spencer carbine."

Dean rocked back on his heels, eyes narrowed.

"Now, Ma'am, I'm flattered. Most people say I'm more of a pistol."

She laughed again. "Most people are probably right about that, boy."

Sam smirked as they followed her to the door. "Dude, she just called you short." he whispered.

"Shut up." Dean hissed back.  
Mrs. Creek stopped just inside the door and waved at a gunrack on the wall.

"That's my husband's carbine up there-Ben always said it had all the power, and wasn't half as much nuisance in the woods."

As she turned away again, Dean punched his brother in the arm gleefully.  
"She's got you pegged, Sammy!"

Mrs. Creek was lonely, it seemed. She remembered plenty about the mining days, and although she looked a little surprised to be asked about her disappearing dog, she was happy to tell her story to the handsome young men from the hotel, who ate her cookies while they listened.

"I visit Ben's grave every Thursday, because.." her mouth tightened and she didn't go on for a minute.  
"Dado always came with, for company, because he misses Ben too. He was running ahead, barking at the owl in the big pine there, and ran straight into a dust devil that came up the path from the cemetery. It.. Just took him and..and I think it ate him. I t took the old trail straight up to the tracks and.. and I heard him yelping, and I was running after him when he just stopped. That thing... Dropped the bones, just dropped them right down by the by the tracks and went on. He was just..bones.  
Part of his collar fell on the trail. It..when I found it it looked like it'd been chewed on, but there was nothing there but the wind."

Sam shook his head. " Ever hear of anything like that around here before?" Her faded eyes lost a little focus.

"Like what?" Sam's brows rose and his mouth dropped open a little. He flipped his hands, not sure how to answer.

Dean snorted. "He doesn't mean wind eating dogs, ma'am. He means finding bones in weird places and stuff like that. "

She frowned. up at him, confused and a little hopeless, like she knew already they didn't believe her. Their expression of interest seemed to encourage her.

Well," she offered, "they say they put the cemetery here because of the bones. And the dogs never do like the wind."

Dean grabbed one last cookie from the plate and stuffed it in his mouth. "Thanks, Mrs.Creek." he said around it. "You've been very helpful".

Ruth Creek stood at the door watching them go. Danger...they were polite, and pretty, and pleasant, and her garden was safe but the road was dangerous as they were. "Be careful," she called after them suddenly. "The owl doesn't like the sun." The tall one turned and waved while his brother opened the gate.  
"huh. That's pretty weird, all right.

Dean waited till they were well down the path before he snickered.

"Toto, I don't think you're in Kansas anymore."

Sam punched him lightly in the arm. "There might be something..Dean, remember how the EMF went off last night just after the wind hit us, and then the dogs started howling? Maybe it wasn't the place, maybe it was the wind?"

Dean stared at him.

"You're as batty as she is, dude. I warn you right now, I catch you in one of those crocheted hats, I'm gonna salt and burn it right on your head."

I made some substantial changes, and since it was a little unwieldy, decided to break this up a little better- apologies for the screw up


	3. Chapter 3

The Miners Rest

Rating: T (R- for language, innuendo, and the Brothers Grimm)

Characters: Sam and Dean, OCs Possible Sam or Dean/OC later

Disclaimer I don't own them, I'm just wishing in one hand.

Summary The brothers find a job investigating weird happenings in a western ghost town.

In which Dean inadvertently reads naughty stories to children, and Sam is embarrassed.  
Notes This began as a one-shot response to a prompt about one of the brothers reading a fairy tale to a kid, then it ate my NaNo. Now it wants to be much longer, probably darker. Not beta'd, although it probably should be, since NaNo brings wordiness and rambling in its wake. (Concrit would be greeted with joy, rewarded with cookies)

I messed up posting the first time around, so this is now fixed, I think I caught it before many people saw it. Much less unwieldy now too!

Please review and let me know if I should even go on with this...

The wind picked up a little on the road back. Both brothers were shivering by the time they sat down in the originally named Eating house on Main Street for lunch. Dean pulled out another of the vouchers from the envelope- Sam had left all the files in their room, but Dean had kept all the bright slips of paper in his inner pocket. The Eating House had six kinds of pie, but Dean only ordered two. It was as good as he'd said, and Dean finally dropped his fork on the empty plate and sat back with a satisfied belch.

Sam surveyed the wreckage, sipping his coffee primly. 'Dean, how can you eat like that?"

'Dude, if I have to spend the rest of the day doing research with that face in front of me, I'm gonna need some sugar in my recent past."

Dean handed the waitress their voucher, with a tip from last night's winnings. The receipt she gave him in return had a smiley face, but no phone number. Sam grinned at Dean's scowl as he tugged him out of the restaurant.

They walked down the street to Books and Sundries. The "sundries" seemed to be limited to a box of colorful rocks, some candy, postcards, souvenir pens and packs of playing cards at the front counter. In the back was a heap of colorful pillows. The rest looked like Sam's idea of heaven. Weathered pine paneling and shelves bending under the weight of the books they held. Jean Dahlquist was a small round woman dressed in matronly brown, with two rows of brass buttons down the front of her bodice. She smelled very faintly of dust and mothballs and tried to interest them in the shiny new paperbacks displayed in the window, but admitted to keeping the rare and expensive local history and legends collection at the back. .She repeated Tony's claim about the best collection of Gold Rush memorabilia word for word -the same words printed on her brochure, but Sam didn't see any reason to doubt her.  
She made them both wash their hands in the little restroom before she led them to a locked room behind the store and hesitated, her eyes lingering on Dean's leather jacket and the smudges of dirt on Sam's jeans.

"I don't usually let customers just browse by themselves. Some of these are very rare, very old first editions. They need careful handling"

Dean gave her one of his patented smiles. "Don't worry, Jean, Sammy here is a certified geek. His first words were 'Dewey decimal." He shrugged at her giggle, and turned up the wattage on the smile. "Sounded like it anyway. He really couldn't hurt a book if his life depended on it. And we did wash our hands."

She smiled back, but still hesitated, key in the lock. "There's an awful lot...to go through, I mean. I should really stay and help you find what you need- it's not very well organized,"  
Sam offered her one of his own patented smiles, the one that usually got older women looking around for something to feed him.

"It'd be great if you could help, Jean. It's your stock. You'll know where to look better than we do."

Pinned on those smiles, Jean fluttered between the boys like a little brown bird.  
"Well I wish I could give you more time to look, but the Childrens Story Hour is coming up. I hate to kick you out after only an hour, we'd barely get started by then but I have to go read to them, and..."

"No problem, Dean'll do it." Sam ignored Dean's horrified look and Jean's dubious one.

"Honestly, my brother gets along great with kids. He's kind of a big kid himself, so they're on the same level, really. He'd be happy to do Story Hour for you, right Dean?

Sam added his puppy dog eyes to the assault, distracting Jean from Dean's indignant  
face. "Really, he always says kids are the best."

Jean glanced at Dean for confirmation.

"Yeah. I love kids." he put some extra sincerity into his smile and cut his eyes meaningfully at Sam, "It's only when they grow up that I want to thump them." Jean laughed.

"Well, if you're sure you want to...I keep some interesting childrens books back here, and you could pick whatever you want to read" Jean pushed open the door, and Sam smirked behind her back at Dean's look of dawning horror.

The back room stank of old dust and dry paper. A battered old table and two chairs stood in the middle, covered with rolls of maps, surrounded by boxes, stacks and shelves of books. Jean picked up a stack off the corner of the table, and dropped them in Dean's arms. Dean hung warily by the door, staring at ten pounds of mismatched colorful books that were old before he was born , while she went straight for the upper shelves across the room for more.  
Sam started sneezing about the time the bookseller took a half dozen ragged, yellowing books off the top shelf, all fraying threads under lurid covers with chipped edges. Jean frowned and blew the dust off them. A mistake. The cloud that rose might have blocked the sun, if it hadn't been contained in a room about 8x7. Sam gasped and covered his mouth with his hand.

Dean grabbed the top couple of books off Jeans's stack and backed out fast .

He called "You two take your time, enjoy yourselves. I'll be out here entertaining the kiddies." and managed to shut the door just as Sam let another godawful sneeze loose in his direction, that sent all the dust sailing around again.

Dean flipped up the front counter and looked around Jeans little office space. Her computer, hidden under the counter like the one at the hotel, was password locked, but didn't seem to have anything more interesting than inventory anyway. He snitched a few jelly beans out of the sample dish on the counter and popped them in his mouth, reached into the glass case for the playing cards, They all had pictures on the back and he smirked at that. Pre-marked for gambling convenience.

Only the cards with animals were actually marked "educational" although Dean thought the ones with Wild West madams should have been. He used those to lay out a game of solitaire, which he lost. He sold two of Jeans' postcards of Pike's Peak, though, and a small bag of rocks. Which he figured justified eating most of Jean's jelly beans.

He checked the schedule on the door. Story hour wasn't supposed to start for another 30 minutes, and the shop was empty, so Dean chucked the childrens' books onto the biggest, most comfortable looking pillow in the nook and grabbed the local history Jean had tried to show them instead.

Flipping through them didn't tell him much, mostly dates and stats for the mines the town was built around and a lot of sepia photos of people who never got mentioned in the book. A few buildings, their hotel, the saloon next to it and the butcher's shop between. It had a pretty good section on boomtown vices, though.

Dean leaned on the counter and flipped through pictures of soiled doves, paused at a feather-decked brunette miners had called the "Flower of the Rockies". She was wearing a pretty good copy of Sam's bitch face for the camera, and not much else.

"You are not hot" he told her, although the book said otherwise. He flipped over to saloons, let out a long low whistle at the prices of booze, and got a little interested in a really gruesome murder back in 1902- in the next town, unfortunately.

"Excuse me?"

Dean looked up. The soft voice belonged to a tired-looking woman with dark hair, grumpy looking kid on either side of her, neither one of them big enough to see over the counter. Several more were scrambling for the best pillows back in the Nook, with a couple other mother-types who all looked like they thought he should have noticed already. Dean agreed. A skinny girl with glasses had already claimed his pillow. She had one of his books open on her lap too.

"Does- do you know if the Childrens' Story Hour is starting soon?"

Dean turned his best corn-fed Kansas boy smile on her and watched her melt.

"Sure thing, ma'am. Anytime, if the kids are ready?"  
She smiled back in relief. "Oh, they are. Umm, is it all right if I just look around while the story lady reads..?"

Dean snapped his own book shut and ducked back under the counter. "No problem. You go ahead. I'll keep 'em busy for a while."

Oh! I didn't realize, are you the-"

"Yep, I'm the story lady." _I cannot believe I just said that._ Following the two grumpy kids to the Children's Nook, Dean darted a quick guilty glance toward the back, hoping Sam hadn't heard. The girl who'd claimed his pillow was bouncing on her knees, already had a story all picked out for him to read.

"Look, it's about me! Lean Lisa!" She pointed to the title in the book and batted stumpy eyelashes. "Will you read that one, please?"

"Sure, Lisa"He grinned at her as he sank down into the squishy red pillow next to her. She giggled and leaned into him, smelling like bubble gum.  
Dean sighed when the other kids giggled too, and crowded closer. He glanced down at the book she shoved into his hand..

At least the story she'd picked out was short. But, it turned out, not short enough.

One of the kids had spiky blond hair with green tips and an attitude Dean knew all about that attitude, seen it before, in a mirror 20 years ago, so he tried really hard not to call the green haired kid Johnny Rotten in his head. He started it.

When Dean read _"Long Laurence, with so much work that he had heavier weights to carry than an ass with three sacks."_ Dean's eyes widened and he wanted to bite his own tongue. The green haired kid was way too young to be thinking what Dean was thinking, but he whistled low and loud. Glaring at him helped Dean swallow the first crack that almost came out his own mouth. Didn't help much otherwise.

As he read on, he had to read louder to cover the giggles little Johnny started. Dean finished that one fast, skated over the bit that had Long Laurence shoving his his wife's head into her pillow till she passed out and flipped quickly to one he knew was safe. Funny and fine for kids, because after all, what could be so wrong about Snow White?

Snow White, it turned out, was even kinkier than lanky Lisa or whatever her name was. Dean thought it was sweet that the dwarves decided to let her sleep, and then felt his eyebrows crawling up into his scalp when he heard himself read;_"And the seventh dwarf slept with his companions, one hour with each, and so got through the night."_

Johnny green top let out another long, low wolf-whistle- he was probably pretty proud of it. The kids all erupted into giggles.

Dean frowned at them, started frantically cutting and adding to the story, trying to backtrack and tone it down, make it more like the Seven Dwarves he remembered. He did different voices for the dwarves, like he'd done for Sammy, and made them say things like  
"There he goes again! ow, Sneezy, get out! Your feet are cold-"And "sheesh, don't sneeze on my pillow, that's just gross." every time one of Sam's sneezes reverberated from the back room. That made the kids giggle too, but those giggles were ok, wet snot was the kind of thing kids should giggle at.

Better than bed hopping dwarves in Dean Winchester's book.

So Dean was pretty busy trying to read a little ahead while the words rolled out his mouth, even while his own brows tried to climb up into his hairline he was editing on the fly but he was handling it. He was feeling pretty good about that, really, until he saw one of the mothers standing behind the group frowning at him. Soccer mom. Grade A milf, but way too uptight.

_She_ probably didn't think a fairy tale should include wet snot on the sheets, but Dean would've bet her all Sam's laundry she had no clue about what else might be on those sheets if he wasn't yanking this thing back down to the G-rated scale for fractured fairy tales.

So he took a little revenge, made the Wicked Queen look just like her. She got it too. That cold-eyed glare didn't do a thing for her looks. Since he couldn't exactly say so, Dean told the kids instead about how ugly the Queen got when she got mad. He decided to twist the knife a little, in the interest of toning down the blood and gore, so he skipped the Queen's obsession for details about the faked murder and played it off a little more about how the handsome hunter saved the little girl and never said a word. The kids loved it.  
The bit about the poisoned laces went over pretty good too- Johnny Green-hair stage whispered, "Dude, she was wearing a corset?" And the kids giggled and Dean smirked back before he caught himself, but kept his eyes firmly on the page even when the dwarves had to cut her laces to wake her up.

"Cool. I want a girlfriend just like that."the kid snarked. Dean didn't look up.  
Even though he wanted to tell the kid, "yeah, that's cool alright. You always wanna let the chick breathe, for chrissake."

By the time he got Snow White packed off in her crystal coffin, a line of soccer moms stood glaring at Dean. the EMF in his pocket never went off, so he was pretty sure the bookstore wasn't haunted, still the temperature had definitely dropped there in the Kids Korner. Sam and Jean must have finished before he did, because Sam was giving him the whipped puppy look and MILF #1 had cornered Jean, whispering furiously and pointing, first at Dean and then at her rotten kid-figured it'd be Johnny, still snickering about the "kiss".  
Jean looked a little worried.

Little Green-hair was watching him expectantly- too bad.  
With the league of mean mothers standing behind the kids like they were waiting in the lynch line, no way was Dean going to read out loud how the Prince's daily loving and a smackaround from the staff brought Snow White back to life.  
What was with these necrophiliac fucks, anyway? Damn hunter shoulda salted and burned the whole household and the brothers Grimm too.  
Dean mumbled something about dropping the coffin and living happily ever after and closed the book.. The green-haired kid looked disappointed, like he knew better and wanted to argue, but Dean glared him down, and let lanky Lisa leave a print of her braces on his cheek, for "her" story.  
Sam hung back He didn't look good. In fact, he looked depressed. He kept his hands shoved in his pockets, except when he had to pull one out to sneeze into the crumpled ball of white tissue he clung to. Either he learned nothing from a half day breathing book dust and listening to Jean gush about the second, revised edition, or whatever he found out must be grim.

He leaned against the bookcase while Dean said good-bye to the kids and took the book back to the counter. Power moms hovered like harpies watching the bookseller collect the storybooks. Jean thanked Dean without much sincerity, looking a little disappointed herself. She didn't ask him to come back.

As the door swung shut behind them Dean sighed in relief."Well. That was a waste of good drinking time." Sam sneezed and snuffled into the damp tissue. "Gross, Dude."

Dean bumped his brother's shoulder as they turned toward the hotel. "So. Whatcha got for me, Grumpy? Got it all figured out yet ?" Sam's answer was another wet snuffle. Dean glared.

Sam looked at him and seemed about to say something when he sneezed again.

Dean dodged, muttered," Dammit, Sammy, say yes. This better have been worth it, lemme tell you, because my gig? Really sucked, thanks for asking."

Sam gave him the ghost of a grin and another sniff.

"You sounded like you were enjoying yourself, actually."

"Right I was. Cuz I think those women were seriously thinking of going after my ass, Sam, and not in a good way- more like an old-fashioned "lynch this perverted loser now" way. And you know how much I enjoy that."Sam sneezed again.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Christ."

After a good long sniffle into his tissue Sam said,

"Yeah, I saw that. Way to traumatize the youth of America there, Dean." Dean huffed indignantly.

"Oh, no way. Jesus Christ, Sam, how is that my fault?. Out of the goodness of my heart I offered,"  
Sam said sotto voce " in order to avoid doing any research" which Dean easily ignored .

"I volunteered to read the little dirtbags a story so you could drool on the first editions and their moms could go max their credit cards and slam martinis until dinner time. And suddenly I got dudes strangling their wives, and bed hopping dwarves, and Prince Necrophilio-"

Sam coughed and sneezed again.

"I can't believe they put that shit in a book for kids, Sam! Who are these kinky bastards, and why don't the milfs against pornography organize up a ban, put those suckers out of business instead of ganging up to blame me? I mean, how is that fair? "  
"Dude, you picked up the Brothers Grimm to read to children. "

It said " fairy tales"on the cover, Sam. Fairy tales are for kids. What the hell? How was I supposed to know there was a slash orgy version of Snow White?

"It's a classic, Dean."

"It's porn! "

"No, it's _Victorian _."

Dean didn't say "what the fuck," He didn't have to. He gave Sam a Look. Sam saw that muscle jumping just off his jaw... he lifted his hands and backed away, patted the air between them like he was trying to soothe a dog that might be rabid.

It's the classic Grimm version, Dean." He said gently, still backing away. Too slow.

Dean shot out one arm, shoved his brother hard into the wall and _leaned _with the heel of his hand on Sam's chest. He shook his head decisively.

"No, Sam, the _classic _is not grim, it's stupid. Seven stunted little guys named Happy, Sneezy, Dopey, Grumpy, Bashful, Sleepy and Doc, that do nothing but work and worry, all shivering and shoving each other and telling each other there's a goblin in the house, "  
His voice went high and squeaky again.

"Look. The floor, it's been swept. Hey, window's been washed. Gosh, our cobwebs are missing Be careful men. Search every cook and nanny. uh, hook and granny, Search everywhere, men. It's up there. In the bedroom. You go upstairs, no you, I know, let Dopey go. '  
So Dopey goes upstairs and finds this hot chick in bed and everybody wants to keep her but nobody knows what to do with her, so when Prince Charming finally kisses her she dumps them all and goes home with him."

Dean smirked and rocked back on his heels, giving Sam enough room to breathe again.  
" Which, by the way, is the part of the story you should pay attention to, Sammy. There's a moral there for you, ya'know?

Shoulders still flat against the wall, Sam took a deep breath, considering possible answers to that, and then reconsidered.

"Ok', he sighed., "I don't even want to know why you have the Disney dialogue memorized. "

Dean flung up his hands.

"Because I had a kid brother who watched it like fifty freaking times! You loved that movie. You wanted to watch it every time we turned the TV on. Dad and me are all-"Hey, Here, Sammy, we got Godzilla or.." He switched to a piercing falsetto.  
"No, want Snow White!" before dropping down to his usual register "Ok, how about Grease, Sammy, there's music and dancing and hot chicks and cars, but nooo...

"Snow White Snow White Snow White! Bwaahahaha" all the fucking time, Sammy."  
Dean reached up and yanked Sam's hands down off his ears, grinning and sing-songing.

"Aww, Did that hurt, Sammy boy?" He nodded at Sam's grimace. " Damn right it did. Dad and I let you watch it over and over in pure self defense."

Sam jerked away. "It wasn't that bad, Dean" he growled.

"Dude, it was horrible! We could recite that thing in our sleep! And you know what was worse, Sam?" his eyes narrowed.  
"You used to dance. And sing. All over the house. You'd make little tweety bird noises, and tried to get me to sing with you and clean the house. Which would have been ok, if you'd actually picked up your own damn socks or anything. But no, you wanted to stand in the middle of the room pointing, and_I_ was supposed to be Snow White's whole freaky anal retentive zoo, sweeping the floor and making your dirty socks disappear while muffins baked themselves in the oven we . Didn't. Even. Have!" At that point Dean's face got way too close to Sam's, his eyes gone a little wild.

Sam backed away, shoved his hands in his pockets and pushed past him, walking faster. Dean let him go. But not far..

He caught up quick, _skipping._ Skipping all around Sam, singing "whistle while you work "with sound effects. Ok, maybe he wasn't skipping, Maybe he thought he was doing some kind of jig, with his hands sticking straight out from his hips like that. Or maybe that was supposed to be Snow White holding up her skirt. But it _looked _like skipping. It looked ridiculous. Maybe it was supposed to be Dopey.

Sam turned away so his brother wouldn't see him snicker, and found himself the target of curious eyes. Repelled , he tried to keep moving, to distance himself. But Dean blocked his escape attempt, boots thumping angrily on the boardwalk-in pretty good time to the whistling, really. Tourists straggling down to the saloon in the twilight were stopping to look. Some of them were laughing, and one pointed at the crazy man. The crazy man in a scarred leather jacket and biker boots singing and doing some kind of fucked-up Dean-jig in the middle of their authentic Wild West experience.

Sam tucked his head down between his shoulders, and wished he was short. He'd never felt so conspicuous in his life. Maybe Dean was possessed., he thought hopefully. He could just take him back to the hotel and exorcize him.

" _Whistle while you work,_ Christ, you pitched such a fit about sweeping up the salt lines Dad thought you were possessed , and he was sure of it when you wouldn't let him kill the goddam mice in the kitchen. You said they were going to help wash the dishes. You talked to the goddam crows eating roadkill, and he was afraid you'd jump out of the car and try to sing to the nice werewolf if he took you on a hunt, so he went alone and left me home to watch you."  
Sam shook his head. "I don't remember any of this, Dean."

"Remember how we always had enough money to get popcorn and shit at the video store? Didn'tcha ever wonder about that, Sam?" Sam kept walking. Dean kept up. "Dad usedta tell me to take you to the counter and _keep_ you there long enough he could run over to the childrens section and turn around all the boxes that even looked like Snow White."  
He was still walking backwards in front of Sam, blocking any attempt at flight, slowing him down so the tourists got a real good show.

"We cut you off, Sammy, for your own good. But you found another way to get your fix, didn't you? You told one of your teachers, another one that thought the sun shone out your ass, how none of the video stores had Snow White and she felt sorry for you. She gave you the book instead. " Dean stopped dead, Sam almost ran over him.

" So then we had to read it to you too," Dean hissed. "Stupid book with stupid pictures from the MOVIE! Nobody ever told me there was an adult version. Why didn't Dad tell me that?"  
His voice cracked on a note of genuine anguish, so that Sam actually stopped and reached for him, but Dean danced out of range again, back to singing the mining song. More people had stopped, Sam realized.  
They' d collected a better audience than some of the paid attractions, clumps of sunburned tourists in shorts with cameras hanging around their necks, all staring at Dean hopping on the boardwalk chanting, "_ Dig _dig dig, _Dig _dig dig-"

Tony the resort manager came out to lounge in the doorway of the general store with his thumbs tucked in his old-timey suspenders. He was grinning too. Jerk.

Sam ducked his head, ran his fingers through his hair to cover his blush, so he didn't have to see all those curious, pitying, amused eyes watching his brother make fools of them both. If the ghost or poltergeist or tommyknockers wanted to open up an old tunnel right under the boardwalk, right now, Sam thought, he'd d be ok with that. Even a minor Aztec deity. Whatever. He'd give the damn thing a free pass for once, if it'd just open up the street _right now_.

The bad things must have all been busy somewhere else, though, or maybe just enjoying the show, because it didn't happen. Sam shook his head when Dean finally ran down, averting his eyes from his furious, intent glare, and sighed.

" Look, Dean, It's the _Grimm _brothers. Primal Mythos, Jungian archetypes, Freud and all that shit. There are whole dissertations written about it. Look it up later. Right now-" he rolled his shoulders and heard them crack.

" _Please _shut up. I'm tired. I have a headache. While you were curled up on the comfy pillows scarring the minds of innocent children I was squinting at wood cuts and sneezing my brains out with all the dust back there."

Dean shook his head pityingly.

"Aww, poor Sammy. you're tired? You've been sneezing? And you think _I _memorized it? _You_ fucking internalized it, Sam! Sleepy, Sneezy, Grumpy, ha, ha, ha," he mimicked.

"You're like, half the dwarves yourself, Sammy, and Christ, I don't believe it, you're blushing,. you're actually blushing! again! Dammit, Bashful too, Sam, didja never think maybe 3-4 dwarves would add up to a Sasquatch when they grew up?"  
He whirled and punched the hitching post as they went by.

"I _knew _we shoulda cut you off earlier, made you watch Star Wars more. Except you liked the jawas. You thought they were cute, too, stripping Luke's flyer and kidnapping the droids and all. And you know what else?"

He poked Sam's chest with his pointing finger.  
"There's no way in hell those kids were innocent. They were making puns out of the fucking subtext before I-"

Sam couldn't help it anymore. He leaned up against the dance hall wall and started to laugh. He desperately wanted to tell Dean just how cute he was when he was mad, but as he opened his mouth he thought of something better.

"Internalized? Subtext? Whoa, big words there, dude, you must be Doc, huh?"

Dean went from manic to aggrieved in 0 seconds flat and shoved his fists in the pockets of his jacket.

"Bitch, there is no part of me that resembles a dwarf. Especially not an old one."

Sam cocked his head, stared thoughtfully at Dean and then past him, out into the street, with faraway eyes.  
"Search everywhere, men. It's up there." he quoted in a gruff voce, and then shook his head., straightening to his full height to look down at his big brother.

"You just keep thinking that." he said regretfully. " _Little _brother."

He pushed off the wall and strode toward the hotel before Dean could see his grin. He heard an indignant "Hey!", and Dean's boots hitting the boards behind him. No rhythm, thank god, just double time. When he caught up Dean walked beside him for a minute, mirroring Sam's head down stride. When he bumped his shoulder Sam lifted his head and eyed him warily. Dean grinned and slung his arm around Sam's neck.

"Hey, check it out," He offered. " You quit sneezing. And your nose isn't so red. Not compared to your ears, anyway." A dangerous light sparked in Sam's eyes, and Dean grinned.  
"And you're not all hunched over anymore. If you think you can quit embarrassing me here, making all the tourists stare at us, I might let you come out with me tonight."

"Embarrassing _you _?" Sam squeaked, before he got control of himself again.

"Hey, no problem, little brother. I'm used to it. I covered for ya. But you look ok now."  
Dean hauled him in closer and Sam let him. At least he wasn't dancing anymore.

"So. I figured we should hit ye authentic old west saloon again, see what the rest of the staff know abut the mines."

"Dean," Sam sighed. "We have work to do. This is a job, a paying job, remember?"

"And we _been_ working. All day. Even the dwarves got time off after dark, remember? Besides, interviewing staff counts as work. "

"Not when you're asking for their phone numbers. "

"What, you never heard of a private interview?" Sam shoved at him again.

"Not laughing , Dude, and I'm not going out. I'm tired, and I need to look over those files again."

Under a hundred curious eyes, Sam's head still trapped in the crook of his elbow, Dean shook him affectionately, making the shaggy fringe of hair flop over his eyes. "C'mon, Sam, you gotta eat."

"I'm not hungry." Dean's mouth opened again but Sam cut him off fast. "I have granola bars in the room. Besides, the burgers there totally sucked. And the fries were greasy."

Dean shrugged. "So we'll try the pizza this time. Have a couple beers, knock back shots of rotgut whiskey like manly men of the old west. If you can handle it."

Sam rolled his eyes. Dean shrugged.  
"Or not. Ok. Tell you what. We'll make a bet for.. all your laundry."

"You're already doing all my laundry, Dean, remember? Why would I bet on that?

"Dude, I so did not lose that bet. We got here, we got our advance, we got interviews..so here's the deal.You can open up your laptop at the bar and work work work.. "

Maybe Dean's hearing was affected. Maybe it was just the word "no" he couldn't hear.

"And.. while you channel all your inner dwarves, I'll channel Prince Charming." He raised an eyebrow. " Cowboy style. See who gets laid first.."

He stopped, leaned closer, peering owlishly at Sam.."Oh, damn, that's gotta hurt." His smooth voice dripped concern.

"Jeez, Bashful, no wonder you got a headache. Rolling your eyes that far back can't be good for you."He snickered. "You probably strained something there."

"Deeean." Sam jerked away from him and glared.

"Oh, excuse me, I guess I offended your dwarfish little ears, huh? I should rephrase that. How about let's see who _gets the girl _faster, huh Sammy?'

Sam groaned, keeping his eyes firmly on the boardwalk. Which was made of boards. With knots and splinters and everything.

"Tommyknockers," he begged under his breath, and got a sharp-eyed look from Dean  
"Can't be," he said reflexively, and then caught himself, rapped Sam on the back of the head.

"Man, your problem is you think too much with your upstairs brain, you know? You need a little balance, got nasties on the brain. You should get into some real knockers once in a while, like I do. Wash the taste out." Sam shut his eyes against that image, which really didn't help.

"Thanks for the diagnosis there, Dr. Bone. God, Don't' you ever think about anything else?"

Dean slapped him on the back, and that crazy grin split his face again.

"Hell, no, Dude. The Grimm brothers didn't, why should the Winchesters? We are so much better looking than them. Well, _I _am, anyway. _You _are way too serious, and by the way, your face is gonna freeze like that if you don't lighten up. Look around, Sam, soak up the atmosphere. "

He waved his arm at the dusty street and weathered facades all around them, gave a half-salute to a wagon trundling by.  
"We need to get into the minds of the people that started all this, right? A big ol'geek like you should appreciate this unique opportunity. We're living in a time capsule here. We got.. bank, assayer's office, Dance halls, saloons with bad whiskey and big pictures of naked fat ladies behind the bar False fronts, .stamping mills,- We even got real tumbleweeds. And oh yeah," he waved at two smiling saloon girls eyeing them from the door of the Miners Rest down the street.

"Look, we got painted floozies in real corsets even, now those are knockers for both brains to think about, Sam "- More staff, college girls dressed up for the tourists, a cute little redhead with freckles and a long-legged brunette, laughing at them just like the manager. Sam wished Dean would just shut up. Instead.his brother dropped his voice a little, more confidential. The tourists across the street _probably _couldn't hear him.

"Those girls got taste., Sam, they 've been watching me They _like _me. See that tall one?"

Sam did. She was gorgeous, nearly as tall as Dean and classic black Irish, with deep blue eyes and hair as black as her stockings; her name was Fiona and she was majoring in biology.

He grabbed Dean's hand and forced it down before he could point. Still no tommyknockers. Or whatever. Dean grinned again.

"Bet she'd like you too without the pissy bitch face you got going there. Watch-"  
Dean turned his head and winked at them. Sam felt the tips of his ears burning as the girls giggled again. Fiona's roommate was a blonde, and Sam wasn't about to bet Dean didn't know that. Probably had it all planned out.  
He wondered wildly if it would do any good to tell Dean _why _they were watching him. Probably not, because Dean was still talking. He was on a roll, for sure, and if Sam hadn't been the focus of Dean's relentless steamroller tactic, he'd have thought it was funny too, instead of wishing for a poltergeist.

"I read that brochure, you know? Later on at the Miner's Rest they'll be doing the cancan in short skirts and lace, flashing the rubes every other kick-It's supposed to be real authentic. And I know for a fact they didn't have underwear back then, just those lacy black stockings under all those petticoats-" he smacked his lips, ignoring Sam's longsuffering mutter of  
"They _had _underwear, Dean."

" Look, the way I see it, Dad raised us to be chivalrous, right, little brother? And here's these poor soiled doves, just waiting- _hoping- _for a couple handsome gunslingers to come along and peek up their petticoats. You gonna disappoint them?"

"Shut _up _, Dean They're gonna hear you."  
"-. and?" Dean asked, raising an eyebrow. He pulled Sam down to whisper in his ear. His hot breath on Sam's neck sent shivers down his spine.

"Don't tell me you don't wanna peek, Sammy..I bet she's got hair black as coal, skin white as snow, and lips.." Sam slapped at his brother's arm, shoved him away, uncomfortably aware he shouldn't _have _enough blood left upstairs to blush even harder.

" ..That's- perverted."  
The corner of Dean's mouth curled up, satisfied.

"No, it's _Victorian." _

Sam stared at his brother. It took an effort to close his mouth, and then he had to open it again to say,  
"Dude, tell me you did not just spend the last ten minutes setting me up for that."

Dean let him go and rocked back on his heels, cool green eyes challenging, then he shrugged.  
"You know I'm right, Sam. Look, she's totally givin' you the eye... "

""Jerk" Sam hissed, yanking open the hotel door.  
Dean ambled in after him, shit-eating grin plastered all over his face.

"That means yes, right, bitch?"

The desk clerk glanced up at them and smiled. Too brightly. Sam wanted to sneer right back. Yeah, so they were the Marx brothers minus one. Like he looked any less ridiculous, in his green visor and those dumb red bands holding up his sleeves. Dean reached past him to snag the key the guy was holding out, right before Sam could decide the hell with it and punch the clerk, too, just for smiling.

I made some substantial changes, and since it was a little unwieldy, decided to break this up a little better- apologies for the screw up


End file.
